Miracle Card Shop: All My Cards Can Be Actualize-Chapter 387: Pecos River Skirmish - 02

A long, drawn-out whine, like a bomb hurtling earthward, sliced through the air. Four assault pods plummeted from the highest reaches of the stratosphere. The colossal aircraft carrying them was a mere speck against the endless blue, its stealth technology masking its presence.

Card Name: Atlantean Carryall

Illustration: Depicts a colossal plane soaring above a sea of white clouds.

Rarity: Common

Type: Artifact - Vehicle

Mana Cost: 7 Non-Element

Description:

Camouflage, Unblockable

When Atlantean Carryall taps and attacks, 10 Tokens you control that are also attacking gain the same effects as Atlantean Carryall.

Driving: 5

Power: 3

Toughness: 10

Flavor Text: This massive airborne behemoth was crafted for ferrying troops and dropping them into the heart of the conflict against Poseidon and his devotees. While its durability is unmatched, its offensive capabilities are more for show than substance.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Moments later, four earth-shattering booms erupted in rapid succession. The pods slammed into the ground with punishing force, each impact unleashing a shockwave and a blistering inferno. These weren't mere landing capsules; they were designed to clear any hostiles from the designated landing zone with ruthless efficiency.

The intense heat could melt normal steel, let alone soldiers or defenders foolish enough to stand in the way.

The four pods settled onto the battlefield with a resounding thud. Two landed near the energy shield, while the other two descended close to the city hall, hidden from Colonel Parker's view.

With a synchronized burst, four door-like hatches on each pod blasted outwards, clearing any immediate threats. From their metallic wombs emerged four imposing figures clad in hulking power armor.

Awe and terror contorted the faces of the Confederate defenders as they witnessed these eight soldiers. The air crackled with the hiss of hot weapons as the power-armored soldiers opened fire. A hail of large-caliber bullets ripped through anything in their path, shredding through average APC armor like tissue paper.

Blood splattered as the heavy machine guns spewed forth a deadly torrent. Even the pride of the Confederacy, the Rhino heavy tank, wasn't a match for the soldiers' autocannons. The battlefield devolved into a brutal slaughter. The soldiers in power armor marched forward, an unstoppable force, eliminating any Confederate soldier who dared resist.

Desperation flickered in the eyes of some defenders as they aimed their anti-material rifles at the helmets of the armored figures. But the .50 BMG rounds could only manage a minor dent. Moments later, the unfortunate soldier met his demise under a hail of autocannon fire.

Within minutes, the once-formidable Confederate defensive perimeter around the bridge had become a killing ground. Witnessing their comrades fall, many soldiers opted for surrender. They dropped their weapons, prone on the ground, hands clasped behind their heads, fearing to move as the deadly whizzing sound of bullets danced past their heads.

The air vibrated with the metallic clang of the power armor and the occasional, deafening boom of heavy weaponry.

Ten minutes elapsed. The symphony of gunfire and clanking ceased. The remaining Confederate soldiers were broken, their resistance extinguished. Their weapons, even anti-tank missiles, proved useless against the power armor's built-in defenses.

Small beams on the soldiers' shoulders, acting as an impenetrable shield, intercepted any incoming rockets or missiles, neutralizing them before they could pose a threat.

The battlefield had fallen eerily silent. The symphony of gunfire had been replaced by a heavy, oppressive quiet. The eight soldiers in their hulking power armor, now more akin to grim reapers than warriors, surveyed the carnage.

Their methodical movements sent shivers down the spines of the surrendered soldiers, who lay face-down, hands clasped behind their heads, daring not to breathe. Each metallic clang of their power armor echoed in the tense stillness, a constant reminder of their complete and utter defeat.

The oppressive quiet that had descended upon the battlefield was punctuated only by the metallic clangs of the power armor as the eight soldiers moved with grim efficiency. They were no longer reaping a bloody harvest; they were now shepherds, herding the remaining Confederate soldiers into a makeshift holding pen.

Those who had surrendered, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and the sting of defeat, were forced to their knees in a growing mass. The hulking forms of the power-armored soldiers loomed over them, a constant reminder of their helplessness.

Here and there, a whimper, a sob, and a choked cry for a parent from an injured soldier broke the oppressive silence – desperate pleas that stretched across hundreds of miles with no hope of reaching their ears.

The soldiers in power armor didn't engage in idle threats or taunts. They were machines of war, focused on their task. Their duty now was to secure the prisoners and await the arrival of reinforcements.

A rumble in the distance, a tremor that grew steadily more pronounced, shattered the silence. Relief and apprehension warred in the eyes of the prisoners – the approaching vehicles heralded the arrival of the US Army, who would relieve them and transport them to a secure holding facility.

Within minutes of the massacre's brutal end, US Army vehicles rolled in. Daniel emerged from a jeep alongside Ragnar and Colonel Parker. The Colonel, still reeling from the carnage wrought by the eight reapers in their imposing power armor, wasted no time.

"Mr. Emberweave," he blurted out, "how much for those suits? The US Army is interested in acquiring them." The Lieutenant escorting the VIPs echoed Parker's sentiment with a vigorous thumbs-up. The efficiency and raw power of those suits were undeniable, and they desperately wanted them.

"In due time, Colonel," Daniel replied calmly. "Everything is negotiable, but right now, selling them isn't an option. Let's just say I'm still evaluating the situation of our… partnership."

Colonel Parker's smile faltered. "Are you saying you're playing the highest bidder? The US Army won't be outbid, of that I can assure you."

Daniel chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Colonel, please. Don't get me wrong. My involvement here stems from Ms. Goldwyn's request. Money isn't a factor…"

He paused, his voice dropping a notch. "It depends on whether the US remains… amenable to Ms. Goldwyn, shall we say?"

Colonel Parker wasn't an idiot. He understood the veiled threat perfectly. He nodded curtly, signaling the Lieutenant from Liberty House to take note. These power armors were game-changers. Just a few squads equipped with them could turn the tide of any skirmish. Their durability promised soldier survival, and who wouldn't want these powerful, albeit potentially dangerous, toys?

Several medics in sleek, white power suits emerged from the APC behind the jeep. They surged towards the wounded Confederate soldiers, their movements a practiced ballet of medical urgency. Even the most horrific injuries weren't beyond their capabilities.

Severed limbs were stabilized, blood loss halted with a single injection from a futuristic med-pac no bigger than a hand. Soldiers with gaping wounds watched in stunned silence as their flesh knit back together at an astonishing rate, visible to the naked eye.

The scene offered a stark contrast to the brutal carnage left by the power armor assault. Here, life was being painstakingly preserved with advanced technology. Colonel Parker watched in awe as a team of these medics treated a soldier with a horrific abdominal injury. After a swift dose of sedative, they whisked him into one of the waiting medical vehicles.

These ambulances were unlike any he'd ever seen - sleek, futuristic machines that arrived courtesy of Daniel's VTOL, which had landed shortly after them. The gleaming equipment inside, along with the medics' futuristic kits, spoke volumes about unmatched efficiency.

Unable to contain his curiosity and perhaps a pang of regret for his own fallen soldiers, Colonel Parker blurted out, "Can you sell this technology to us as well, Mr. Emberweave? The US Army would offer a competitive price for these field kits."

The weight of recent losses hung heavy in his voice. He valued his soldiers' lives, and the thought of lives potentially saved with this technology gnawed at him. "If I had all of this medical equipment before," he confessed, "I'm sure more than half of my soldiers who died in the assault could have been saved." Casualties were a heavy burden on him.

He hated the thought of his soldiers never making it back home, a bitter taste that lingered in his mouth.

Daniel contemplated for a moment, his eyes reflecting a pragmatic calculation.

"Everything is negotiable, Colonel. However, these will be placed under the Golden Empire Group for management. Ms. Goldwyn will handle negotiations with the US regarding pricing." Unlike weapons, these tools wouldn't directly influence the battlefield, but they would provide Greed with leverage in future dealings with the US government.

Meanwhile, the distant echoes of gunfire from within the city hall reverberated across the Pecos River, a jarring reminder of the hostages and US citizens still trapped in the heart of the chaos. Colonel Parker's gut twisted with worry.

He stole a glance at Daniel Emberweave, whose face remained an unreadable mask. The Colonel couldn't shake the image of the carnage wrought by the eight soldiers in power armor. It painted a grim picture of Astral's negotiation tactics, or lack thereof.